


what can't be weathered

by Ethereally



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathtub Sex, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Married Couple, Massage, Trans Male Character, Unsafe Binding Practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24713791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally
Summary: He knows rationally that it’s foolish to wear his binder while he fights, that it quickens his breath and cuts his stamina in half, but that morning Felix had awoken on the right side of dysphoria and the wrong side of bed.Felix makes the mistake of binding during training; Sylvain massages his husband's chest in the bath.

For the FE3H Kinkmeme.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 122
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	what can't be weathered

**Author's Note:**

> serious discussions/exploration of gender dysphoria; please take care when reading. mostly gender-neutral/masculine terms were used for felix's junk, with the exception of "tits" once. 
> 
> neither sylvain nor i condone felix's unsafe binding practices.
> 
> for [this prompt](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=976604#cmt976604) on the three houses kinkmeme

Felix feels the tension in his shoulders ease when Sylvain unhooks his binder, and the clamping sensation around his chest vanishes into relief. The bunched-up ache in his upper back flows through his biceps and settles into dull numbness, and Felix quietly takes stock of the redness around his ribcage, the chafe marks on his skin. He inhales deeply, feeling his lungs fill with air; he’d forgotten, briefly, what breathing normally was like. 

Sylvain doesn’t chastise Felix when he slips the garment off him. His brow is furrowed, concerned when he folds up Felix’s binder, setting it across the towel rack. A hot bath ripples behind them, its steam wafting into the air, and Felix remains silent, for once, as he shucks his underwear and steps into the water. He hisses at first contact with the heat. The boiling warmth lies in stark contrast with the Fraldarius winter brewing outside, but Felix plunges one foot in, and then the other as he settles into the bathtub. When he sits he does so with his back turned against Sylvain, slowly curling his arms around his legs. 

The water stings at first as it washes against the chafing. Felix grits his teeth, waiting for it to alleviate the tightness in his chest, to unravel the knots in his back and shoulders that are a stark reminder of his impudence. He knows rationally that it’s foolish to wear his binder while he fights, that it quickens his breath and cuts his stamina in half, but that morning Felix had awoken on the right side of dysphoria and the wrong side of bed. By the time his husband rose Felix had slipped out to train, in vain hope that the rote sword motions and familiar drills would drown out any thoughts he had about his body, negative or otherwise. Reluctant, Felix unfurls himself in the bath, taking in the aroma of juniper bath oils. 

Rough, scarred hands lathered with shampoo the scent of pine needles run through Felix’s hair, gently massaging the back of his head. They’ve bathed each other like this multiple times now, and normally their routine is full of teasing and banter and jokes that Felix doesn’t want to admit are funny. This time Sylvain remains silent as he washes him. His movements are firm as his hands rub circles into Felix’s scalp, running through his messy dark tresses, and something akin to guilt twists in Felix’s gut like a knife. Felix leans his head into Sylvain’s hands, trying to concentrate instead on how pleasant the motions feel, on how Sylvain doesn’t treat him like a porcelain toy that could break. When he’s done with the process Sylvain raises a bucket of warm water over Felix’s hair, slowly pouring it over him to wash the shampoo out. And finally, he clears the silence.

“I’m going to wash your body now. Or I can leave you to it.”

 _Don’t you dare_ , Felix wants to seethe, but the words come out instead as an angry grunt. Now Sylvain allows himself to laugh, soft and pleasant like the husky pipes of an organ. Felix says nothing as he leans forward, allowing Sylvain to scrub down his back, stomach and arms with a bath lily; the shampoo he’s selected smells like lemongrass and ginger, like home. The exhaustion that previously gripped Felix finally begins to ebb from him. It flows through his muscles into the water, following the soap suds to rest on the surface of his bath, and he sighs, contentedly, as Sylvain’s deft hands massage the knots in his back. Sylvain leans closer into him, and his breath is hot as he whispers into Felix’s ear.

“The bath lily might be too harsh for the chafing, so I’m going to use my hands for the rest of you. Tell me if you’d like me to stop, or if you’re uncomfortable at all, okay?”

“Fine,” Felix says, half-heartedly.

“Felix.” Sylvain isn’t having it, and Felix can almost hear his eyes narrow. “Promise me.”

Felix sinks deeper into the water. He responds to Sylvain’s last statement with a sullen nod, a promise as solemn as the oath they’d made together so long ago as children. Through the corner of his eye he can see Sylvain grabbing the bottle of juniper bath oil, and Felix watches as Sylvain squeezes a few drops onto his hands, swirling it in with the soap. Sylvain approaches the bathtub with a small smile, plunging his hands into the water and lathering Felix’s sides, his chest. The contact is less jarring than Felix expects, and he doesn’t know why he’s come to fear being touched when the end result is always pleasant. It’s not so bad to feel cherished and wanted, to feel Sylvain’s rough calluses trail across his scars and skin. Sylvain’s simply charting the course on a map that he’s explored a hundred times before. He’s hardly going to discover something new and monstrous when he does so.

This hasn’t stopped Felix from feeling too grotesque to be touched in the past, and he knows the emotion will return with full force in the future, a daunting enemy that Felix will have to once again crush and defeat. But this once, the feeling of Sylvain’s hands gently easing against his sides takes victory. Felix heaves another sigh, glancing towards the drain plug, before turning back to face Sylvain. 

“Drain the water and fill it again. Then get yourself cleaned and get in here.”

Sylvain’s eyes widen. “Felix, are you sure--”

“You heard me the first time.”

Sylvain scrambles towards the drain plug, giving it a tiny lift. Liquid and soap suds ripple out from around him, and a chill runs through Felix at the sudden loss of warmth. Without the bathwater surrounding him he feels cold, exposed, and Felix almost misses how his binder hugged his chest so closely to his ribcage. He’s grateful when the bath is fully drained and Sylvain turns on the tap to fill it again. Felix trails his hands through the water, making waves in it like a child at a waterfront. Behind him Sylvain is rinsing himself off, washing his face and body using water from a bucket. The bath is half-full by the time he’s done, and he approaches Felix with a wide grin.

“Hot stuff coming through,” he says, setting the juniper oil on a shelf next to the bathtub. It’s close enough that Felix can read the small print on the label: for soothing irritated skin. Felix raises a brow. 

“By ‘hot stuff’ do you mean the water?”

“Aw, come on,” Sylvain pouts. “You’re no fun.” 

Felix shifts slightly to the side to allow Sylvain space to enter. It’s unfair that Sylvain gets to look like _that_ without really trying-- the months after war have been kind to him, spilling into a natural softness around his arms and stomach that Felix could never hope to emulate. If Felix stops training for a moment it’ll go right to his chest, his hips. A twinge of jealousy stabs through Felix as Sylvain sits down by him. Felix can’t help but note the stubble around his husband’s jawline, the burn scars that char his hands, and how he’s so effortlessly handsome even when his hair is tousled and doused in water. Felix loves Sylvain deeply, always has and will till his dying breath, but sometimes he can’t help but wish that Sylvain had to work for _something_ for once in his life. 

He should be grateful that they’ve finally found peace, but sometimes Felix can’t help but wish that he still had a reason to fight. Maybe he’d realize then that his body isn’t worth destroying himself for. 

Sylvain leans across to plant a kiss on Felix’s nose. “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” Felix says. That, at least, is the truth. “Thank you.”

“That’s good to hear,” Sylvain says, pressing his lips against Felix’s forehead, then his earlobe, then in the space between his collarbones. “I’d be concerned if you were feeling worse after all that. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

Felix hums under his breath. It’s hard to remain wholly envious of a man who’s spending his time doting on _him_ , and as the fresh, warm water rises around them he decides that perhaps he’s longing for more contact. “Get behind me,” Felix says, inching himself forward to make room for Sylvain. Sylvain is happy to oblige, and after some maneuvering the two of them settle into a comfortable position, Sylvain positioned against the tub and Felix leaning against his chest. He’s nested between Sylvain’s legs, surrounded in a pool of water, and when Sylvain reaches over to drop some jasmine oil into the bath Felix decides there’s really nowhere that he’d rather be. 

“Keep going, then,” Felix says, not quite as authoritatively as he would have liked. The scent of the oil wafts through the bathroom, and it’s calm, soothing; he can’t help but note how his mind and voice are slurring into a mist. “With the oils. You can... Touch my chest more. If you want.”

Sylvain takes Felix’s hand, raising it to his mouth and kissing it before reaching for the juniper oil once again. Once that’s done he cups Felix’s chest in his hands, using his thumb to rub the oil over the parts that have yet to be submerged in water, rubbing circles into the chafe marks and red skin that are a result of Felix’s earlier hubris. “They aren’t even good tits,” Felix had complained to Sylvain once, pointing out how saggy his useless lumps of flesh are, small but big enough to get in the way of doing literally anything. Sylvain had replied that at least his tits were cute; Felix had snarled that they’d be cuter if he could somehow get them removed. 

Mercedes had once said off-handedly that she’d look into it, but now that she and Dedue have helped achieve world peace they’ve got Duscur orphans to save. And much as Felix rolls their eyes about the two of them being chronic do-gooders, he’s hardly so selfish that he’d wish she’d prioritize him over the lives of children who were ravaged by tragedy. In the meantime, Sylvain massaging his chest makes him feel better about its existence, even if only a little. He brushes his thumb against Felix’s nipple, and a rush of pleasure surges through him, causing him to inch further back into Sylvain with a sigh. Felix edges his chin upwards to kiss Sylvain’s jaw, and he grinds gently against Sylvain’s cock, teasing. A surge of wicked glee courses through Felix when Sylvain’s lips part with shock. 

“Felix, you sure?”

“Mmm,” Felix murmurs, planting another lazy kiss on the back of Sylvain’s earlobe. He bucks his hips against Sylvain once more, an unspoken challenge for Sylvain to take the reins. Perhaps this is what he needs right now, the validation that he’s lovable, even like this, an affirmation that means more than empty words and hollow promises coming from Sylvain. It’s not a cure-all for how his body makes him feel, but when the love of his life is massaging his chest it’s hard to focus on self-loathing. Sylvain leans down to kiss Felix’s forehead, slowly moving his hands to tease Felix’s nipples, brushing against them with his fingertips. Felix shudders with pleasure at the contact, relishing in his body’s building warmth. It’s not just from the water any more.

Felix can’t pretend to dislike the way Sylvain’s hands graze across his chest, massaging the tension and aches out of him with his skilled fingers. And it might be the steam from the bathtub, or his exhaustion giving way to this, but Felix gives Sylvain another peck on the mouth, inhibitions slowly falling apart in the midst of this blissed-out haze. He presses down further on Sylvain, making the lightest contact with his dick, and when Sylvain edges forward Felix feels the same rush surge between his thighs. Sylvain’s still kneading his chest, pressing kisses down Felix’s neck, and Felix wants nothing more right now than for Sylvain to fuck him already before he falls asleep. 

There’s no place like home, his father used to say, but Felix’s known no better home than he does in Sylvain’s arms. And when Sylvain slides a teasing finger between Felix’s legs, rubbing circles into Felix’s cock with his thumb, he lets out a sigh of satisfaction. He might regret this vulnerability when he’s lucid later, but right now he feels like he could very well melt into his husband’s arms. Another finger slips into Felix, gradual, easy. The building heat inside him is soft and tranquil, a serene sense of _want_ that he’s never quite experienced before, a far cry from the frenzied desire that normally builds inside Felix when he fucks Sylvain. His husband’s voice is nothing but soothing when he speaks into his ear. 

“Are you ready?”

Felix wants to say something in response, but can’t muster the ability to conjure up words. Instead he returns Sylvain’s question with a quiet nod, shifting his hips ever-so-slightly so that Sylvain can push into him. Most of the time, Felix prefers to be the one to do the pushing with the aid of a dildo or a strap, but it’s nice to be on the receiving end of pleasure once in a while. 

Sylvain’s cock slides into Felix with surprising ease; it normally takes a lot longer than this to relax him enough for penetration. Perhaps it’s the water, or perhaps it’s the sense of calmness that’s washed over him like waves on the shore, the feeling of giving himself up completely in this dreamlike state. He feels his heat envelop Sylvain, marveling at the sense of fullness between his legs, the pooling desire that’s overcome him as his husband continues to toy with his nipples. With Sylvain, maybe he doesn’t have to be afraid any more. 

His husband’s motions are reverent as he thrusts into Felix, each motion questing and slow. The pleasure that ripples through Felix is a restful calm, a far cry from the electricity-filled orgasms he’s used to when he’s loomed over Sylvain. Sylvain caresses his inner thigh, deft fingers still kneading at his cock, and when his climax hits him it’s with a gasp, not a shout. Felix’s walls crash down upon Sylvain in waves, and the sensation that surges through him is a delicate warmth, a soothing but powerful reminder that he’s alive, he’s here, he’s loved. 

Sylvain pulls himself out once Felix is done, his own orgasm spilling through him almost immediately after, his seed pouring from his body into the bath. A tiny voice tells Felix that perhaps this has rendered this bathing exercise moot; the sleepy, worn out part of him can’t quite bring himself to care. He wraps his arms up and around Sylvain, turning back to kiss him on the lips. Sylvain smiles into the kiss, running a hand through Felix’s hair. 

“Not letting you leave before we both get cleaned and wiped down. I’ll take you to bed after, though. How’s that sound?” 

Felix had been the first one to bring Sylvain to bed, a few days after their wedding. Sylvain had made a big show of being a blushing maiden, pretending to swoon in Felix’s arms, drunkenly slurring the words “Husband, my husband,” till it repeated in Felix’s mind like a mantra. Despite himself Felix couldn’t help but feel a twinge of joy tug at his heartstrings. He’d laid Sylvain into his bed, their bed, relishing at how long it had taken them to get there-- how they should have known from the first days of their friendship, when they’d made that shared promise underneath the stars. 

They’d lay in bed chatting for hours that night. And perhaps it was exhaustion, or a sudden moment of vulnerability, but Felix found himself blurting out a thought, a sentiment that he’d been previously too afraid to vocalize. Years and years later, centuries after he and Sylvain would be buried deep in the ground, perhaps some scholar might find their final resting place: they would find his and Sylvain’s bodies, entwined in each other’s the way they’d died. They’d dig up their bodies, study their bones, and theorize if the Duke Fraldarius had been a woman all along.

Speaking the words into existence was enough to make Felix’s stomach churn, to cause bile to surface at the back of his throat. He’d spat and snarled, telling Sylvain to forget he’d said anything. It shouldn’t matter, because he’d never cared about his legacy in the past. Why did a tiny part of him care so much about what people might have to say after he’d died? 

Sylvain had instantly cupped Felix’s face with his hands. 

“People like you have always existed,” Sylvain whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Despite what the history books might have told them, Felix wasn’t the first trans noble to walk Faerghus land, and he wouldn’t be the last. Now they’d paved the way for a better future, they could start to shape a better tomorrow: for Duscur, for the people, and for them. And some day, people would open their hearts enough to know what the shapes of their bones might spell. It would be their job to take the steps to make that happen. 

The sun had risen. Felix would then rest.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you cherry for proofreading, and dima for holding my hand through this process. find me on twitter [@gautired](http://www.twitter.com/gautired), and feel free to [rt](https://twitter.com/gautired/status/1272233810764029953?s=20) this fic if you enjoyed it!!


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